


Scars That Never Fade

by Hearmliyneae



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Legolas likes to ramble, M/M, includes original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hearmliyneae/pseuds/Hearmliyneae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn and Legolas are happily married after the war of the Ring. Aragorn is fascinated by Legolas' scars, for Elves do not scar easily. But when Elrond and Company show up in Gondor with a surprise, will Aragorn accept it? Or will he stick to what he has always known?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prince's Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published on FF.net under the title "The Stories Behind The Scars" and under the author Hearmliyneae Greenleaf.
> 
> I once had a dream I was dating Legolas, whose father Thranduil was the author of LOTR and a Canadian businessman. It was weird. But yeah, I don’t own LOTR. Everything belongs to the Tolkien Estate.
> 
> In this AU, only Arwen and Galadriel left for Valinor. Frodo, Gandalf, Bilbo, Elrond, Celeborn, and all those other Elves are still in Middle Earth.
> 
> If you don’t like M/M slash, turn back now. You have been warned.

Dawn creeps over the horizon. The mountains surrounding the once dark land of Mordor are alive and shimmering in the late July sun. I am standing on the balcony. The Royal balcony. Why? Because I want to. He does not mind, and neither do I. It is beautiful, the dawn. The glowing sun, the blue sky, and the lush fields. Only fifteen years ago, it was dark land, filled with shadows. Now, after the war, and in time for the first reunion of the Fellowship, it is green, and rebuilt. Minas Tirith is a city of stone, and yet I, a wood-elf, have found it pleasant to live here, it is almost as easy as in my real home.  
Turning around to face the Royal bedchamber, I notice the King is still asleep. Although it is early, he stirs, and I know he is about to wake. I walk back inside, and lie down beside him, pulling the sheets back over me. The bed is soft, the pillows plump, and the sheets cool. There is no heat left, nothing to betray everything that happened last night. Aragorn, King of Gondor, stirs again, and moans softly as the shroud of dreams falls of him. He turns onto his side, facing away from me. I raise myself onto one elbow, my other arm slipping around his broad chest. His eyelids flutter, noticing my touch, and he yawns.  
“...Las?”  
“Good morrow, sleepyhead.” I say with a smirk.  
“Go away. I’m tired.” He grumbles, as he attempts to pull the covers over his head.  
“It is dawn. Why sleep more?” I ask him, placing my nose on the back of his head, my face nestling in his dark curls. He smells like heaven.  
Aragorn turns to face me. “Because we spent half the night awake, and I’m not as tireless as some Elves. Matter of fact, I’m not an Elf at all.”  
I fall back into the pillows, and whisper in his ear, “Well, you seem pretty awake. Not tired at all, matter of fact.”  
Before I notice it, there is a pillow in my face, and my lover rolls on top of me.  
“Prepare to die, Elf.” He says through his smile, as he pulls the pillow back off my face. His grey eyes twinkle, as they do often when we are alone.  
I push him off, but too hard. He rolls over, once, twice, and falls over the edge, hitting his head against the floor. He curses, loudly. I gasp; it is not what I meant to do. As Aragorn groans, I roll over to the edge of the bed, and look over the edge. He lies on his back, on the hard marble floor.  
“It’s sad, don’t you think, that at the first reunion of our Fellowship, the Prince of Mirkwood must be executed, after almost murdering the King of Gondor.” My love says, as he grins up at me.  
He stands up, rubs the back of his head, and pounces on me. He is heavy, all muscle, and pins me down against the covers.  
“You’re going to pay for this, darling.” He says, with an evil smile.  
He leans forward, and brushes his lips over mine, and then moves them towards my left ear. I gasp. He wouldn’t, would he?

He does.

His lips sweep over my ear, the sensitive skin already feeling pain at the light contact. His elbows pin my arms down, and I cannot move properly, not enough to get away. His hand moves to my right ear, and starts rubbing the tip at the same moment his mouth closes around my left. The pain is excruciating. His teeth bite into my earlobe while his fingers massage the top of my other ear, a brash movement. I bite my lip, trying not to scream, and draw blood. Aragorn adjusts his position, his free hand now holding my neck, in what is almost a choke hold. His legs stroke against mine, his hips rubbing against the bottom of my stomach, for I am just taller than him. All I can move, is my feet and my eyes.  
His tongue slips out from between his teeth, and mimics the movements of his right hand. The latter leaves my ear alone; all that is left is a painful throbbing. Instead, his fingers twirl in my hair, locating one of my braids. He begins to unravel it, as his tongue leaves my ear and his teeth return, this time to the point of my ear. He bites down hard, making my eyes tear.  
“Please, Aragorn. Stop. Please stop.” I whimper, finally finding my voice and throwing away all dignity I had left.   
The pain is causing not only my ears to throb, but also my head, and even his breathing near my ear becomes painful.  
“As you wish, love. I hope you’ve learned your lesson about pushing me off my own bed.” He whispers into my ear.   
My eyes are shut tight as he adjusts himself and releases my limbs. He still rests on top of me, but he is less heavy, having shifted his weight.  
“It was an accident, Ara. I didn’t mean to.” I say softly, barely audible.  
“I know, darling. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted that harshly.” He says, a bit too loudly for my still throbbing ears.  
I whimper, as his hands move behind my head, and continue to untangle the few braids that are left. He is a sweet man, and an amazing King, but he is rough. Very rough.  
His lips brush over mine again, and one of his feet rubs against my calf. He whispers softly, words of love with no meaning but that he is sorry. One of his hands leaves my hair and brushes over my forehead. It rests there, and as I open my eyes I notice his knit brows, his worried eyes.  
“I’ll be alright, Aragorn. It just hurts.”  
“I know, Legolas. But still, your face is very red, and so are your ears. I think I may have gone too far this time. My apologies.” He replies, his worried features close to my face.  
I groan, and he rolls off me, his hand still behind my neck, his other moving to his own head.  
“You know, as rough as you are, Aragorn, you truly are the perfect Consort for the future King of Mirkwood.”  
“What! I, your Consort! No, my dear friend, I’m afraid you are mine! Have been for the past fifteen years, if I may add!” He splutters, not feigning his shock.  
“You owe me this, love, for the treatment of my ears. You put me through such torture once a week, at least. And Mirkwood would like their land back. My family used to rule all the land, from Ered Mithrin to the South of Gondor. We will rule together, and be invincible!” I reply, turning onto my side to face him, and bringing my lips in full contact with his. Kissing tends to diminish my headaches.  
He breaks free, and tries to push me back into the pillows. His eyes, previously slightly shadowed from sleep, are now bright, and filled with lust. I hold my place, and grin, as he struggles to roll me onto my back.  
“Las! Please!” He whines. When he sees I will not let him win this battle, he pretends to pout.  
“I do believe it’s my turn now, Your Majesty.” I say in reply, one of my hands grabbing the nape of his neck and the other sliding under his chest.  
As I embrace him, he slips back against the down pillows, his grey eyes begging me to kiss him. I lean in, and let my lips glide over his, a soft sigh escaping his mouth. I caress his mouth, moving my lips slowly, rhythmically with the birds that sing outside the window. He would not notice, of course. Humans are, after all, far to ignorant of such ‘trivial’ things.  
My lover’s hands slide over my back, down towards my buttocks. He rests one hand just above, and the other keeps moving down, cupping my ass gently. As I open my eyes briefly, I see his own, pleading with me to intensify the kiss. I move one hand over his waist, the other through his curly hair. Before my tongue even reaches his lips, he opens his mouth, allowing me access to his sweet, moist cave.  
As our tongues massage each other’s, the hand which was on my ass moves under the cloth of my breeches, and carefully tugs them down. Aragorn does the same to his own breeches, and before we know it, we are engulfed by passion.  
I finally break the kiss, and nudge his legs open with my knee. They part easily, as the King of Gondor smiles at me. He pulls my head down towards his, but instead of kissing me, he nuzzles my neck instead. He kisses me lightly, his hands moving through my now quite messy hair.  
As my hand wraps itself around his stiff member, he moans slightly, nudging me onwards. I enter him, softly, smoothly. Another moan escapes his lips. Humans are so noisy. I see his eyes open again, and roll my own.  
“Stop it, love. Just keep going.”  
“As you wish, my King.”  
I start moving my hips, to the same rhythm I had moved my lips earlier. At the same time as my thrusts, I stroke his length, moans escaping him again and again. I can feel my body heating up, and know that my own release must be near. It’s faster than usual, possibly because I have so little left after last night.  
I thrust one last time, deeply, and harder than before. I throw my head back, as I find myself in full ecstasy. I pull out, and my lover stares at me, pleads with me to continue stroking him. I shake my head, and a disappointed look appears in his eyes. I grin down on him, and slide down the length of his body.  
As I take him into my mouth, he groans yet again. And again I roll my eyes.  
“Oh, Legolas! Please! Please!” Aragorn cries, as my tongue caresses his member. I bob my head slightly, being rewarded (or is it punished?) with more groans from my mate. I keep my lips wrapped around him until he, too, finds his release.

Swallowing, I come back up, kissing him tenderly on his collarbone. His hands stroke through my hair, and one comes to rest on my back, on an old scar.  
“You never told me how you got this...” he whispers, musing with my hair, before I silence him with a last deep, tender, kiss.


	2. A Windy, Bloody, Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is a flashback. Legolas is, as you may remember, talking with Aragorn about one of the Prince’s scars.

I must have been about 138 when I got this scar. I was travelling to Imladris, to discuss the impending drought that we were facing in Mirkwood. Elrond had offered to help us, for his harvests had been great over the past decades. I had just left the Misty Mountains behind me, when I met a stranger, another Elf, also travelling towards Rivendell.  
It was a windy day, it would have been quite cold had I not been an Elf. However, when I reached the ledge where the stranger was standing, I noticed the strong gusts, and could barely stay on my horse. I dismounted, and led her under the ledge, to stand alongside the other man’s steed.  
“Suilaid” The other Elf said.  
“Mae govannen.” I replied.  
“Iston le?”  
“I do not believe we have ever met before, no. Unless you have been to Mirkwood, that is?”  
“I have not. But you do remind me of an old friend. He was from Mirkwood.”  
“I am too.”  
“I guessed. Your attire gives you away.”  
“Yes, I suppose.”  
“My name is Rissien. I am a lone Elf. A wanderer.”  
“My friends call me Maldor.” I replied, not wishing to give this lone Elf my real name (or status). I may have been young, but I had heard the stories of these strange Elves. And not all those stories ended well.  
“You are on your way to Imladris?” He asked inquisitively. I did not like him yet, he was too curious.  
“Yes, I am a messenger of King Thranduil. We are facing a draught, and need provisions, should we wish not to starve.”  
“Hm. I see.”

Several hours later, the wind had not died down. Rissien and I sat against the rocky overhang, sharing some lembas. Although I was still wary of him, he seemed nice enough. His family had banished him after he had refused to marry a girl from another group, and wished to ask Elrond for advice. He had heard of the Lord’s wisdom, and thought he might provide clarity on the matters of Elven love.  
“Is it not common for lone Elves to accept love in all its forms?” I asked, surprised to hear Rissien’s story.  
“Not really. With some groups, I guess. But not mine.” The man laughed. “My father did not believe me when I told him I had always been attracted to other men, not women.”  
“My father did not really believe me either, when I told him the same. But he did not find it strange. Lord Elrond himself has been believe to have married Celebrian because he needed heirs!”  
“Have you heard, now she has gone to the West, that he is in a relationship with Glorfindel?”  
We both laughed heartily, unbelievingly, almost. My feelings of unease starting to sink, deeper and deeper, and disappeared almost completely.

It was starting to get colder, and the sun was almost completely set. The wind was still blowing, possibly even harder than before. I was annoyed, for I had not wished to stay anywhere near the Misty Mountains, or the Dwarves that inhabited Moria, the entrance being less than a mile away.  
I stood up, and walked towards my packs, shifting the top ones, looking for my bedroll.  
“You know, Maldor...” Rissien whispered, an edge of danger on his voice.  
“Yes, Rissien?”  
“I don’t quite believe you are who you say you are. Partly, because we have met before. Granted, you were merely three years old, but still...”  
“You must be mistaken.” I said, somewhat irritated with my companion’s attitude.  
“I’m not, Prince Legolas. Not at all. And your father never gave me the payment I should have received for turning in those Dark Elves...”  
Before I could even turn my head, I felt something punch through my tunic, and puncture the skin near my lower spine. I seized the nearest weapon, one of my knifes, and spun around, conscious of blood dripping down my back. The other Elf gasped, amazed at my speed, and brought his own sword up just before I stabbed him in the neck.  
The flash in his eyes told me what I should have suspected from the beginning. Rissien was a Dark Elf, and a dangerous one. He brought his sword around, ready to slice me in half. I blocked his attack with my blade, and moved it up again, ready for the next attack, when we heard the hooves of two horses approach.  
“What is going on here?” A voice shouted in Quenya, and, realizing his demise was near, my opponent lunged at me, cutting my arm below the shoulder, and pushing me back. I fell, and pushed the dagger which was still in my back further into my body, the sharp blade slicing through the tissue in my back. I saw an arrow pierce Rissien’s windpipe, and heard him collapse to the ground. Then, the horses came closer, and as I saw a familiar face looking down upon me, I lost consciousness.

“Don’t fret, Elrond. He’ll be fine! Just a couple minutes, and I swear by the Valar, he will have woken!” Snatches of a conversation drifted into my dreamless sleep, slowly bringing me back to reality.  
I blinked, the world around me out of focus.  
“See, what did I tell you?” A male Elf with white-blond hair and friendly blue eyes cried.  
Another male Elf, with near-black hair and brown eyes, suddenly blocked the first one, and I felt a cool hand on my forehead, softly stroking the edge of my hair.  
“Legolas? Can you hear me?” The brown-haired Elf said.  
I nodded slightly, but the movement of my neck caused a shot of pain to run through my body, and I gasped.  
“There, don’t move your head. You’ve had quite an accident, my friend.” The Elf said, smiling. He stopped stroking my head, and got up. My focus shifted, and finally I could make out the room and my companions. I was in the Healing Wing in Imladris, and Glorfindel was smiling down at me. Elrond was busying himself at a table at the other end of the room.  
“How do you feel, Your Majesty?” Glorfindel asked.  
“Painful.” I replied, earning me a smirk from the silver Elf-Lord.  
“Here, drink this. It’ll ease the pain.” Lord Elrond said, as he walked back to my bed.  
He tilted my head up slightly, another beam of pain spreading through my body. The liquid was cool, and as I drank it the pain I had just felt eased, and I felt my muscles relax.

I had just lain back against the pillows, enveloped by the cool white sheets, when the door was thrown open, and the Twins and Arwen stormed in.  
“Legolas!” Elrohir cried.  
“Are you alright?” Elladan continued, worried.  
Arwen, only about seven years old back then, ran to the other side of my bed and climbed onto it, putting her hand down on my injured arm. I winced, although the painkiller did relieve the pain a lot.  
“Arwen! Elladan! Elrohir!” Their father barked. “Have you no manners? He is injured, and he needs rest! Get out! You can talk to him later.”  
The three Elves jumped, and ran out the room again, closing the door behind them.  
“Seriously, one would almost not believe that those two are actually twenty years older than you!” The Lord of Rivendell said, as he smiled down upon me.  
“Now, dearest, relax. They are worried, that’s all.” Glorfindel said softly.  
I shot him a confused, yet amused look. The Elf-Lord smiled at me.  
“Yes, you heard me. I’m surprised the tale of Elrond and myself has not yet reached your father’s court.”  
“Well, I suppose if you wish to discuss my love-life with Glorfindel, you can do so later. Now, sleep. That knife nearly pierced your smaller intestine. You need to rest.” Elrond said, blushing slightly.  
Well, there was at least one thing Rissien had gotten right.

\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------

“You have not fallen asleep, again, have you?” I said, bemused, when I looked at my lover.  
“No, no of course not.” The King of Men replied, looking up at me from the chair he had been sitting in, his eyes opening. I was standing on the balcony (again), and had just explained to Aragorn about the scar that had intrigued him so that morning, after our love-making.  
“So, who killed that other Elf?” He asked.  
“Elladan. It had been the Twins who had come looking for me. Apparently they had expected me earlier.”  
“Ah.”  
“You sound irritated.”  
Aragorn stood up, and walked over to me, his brown tunic waving slightly in the evening breeze. His curly hair fell to his shoulders, and his gray eyes looked at me, pierced through me.  
“I just don’t like the way you speak of my brothers sometimes. It makes me feel... Useless... Worthless...” He whispered softly, a note of embarrassment in his voice.  
I put my arm around my love’s waist, and pulled him nearer to me.  
“Nonsense, Ara. You’re the only one for me. And neither are you useless or worthless. No man has ever been able to please me like you have, physically and spiritually.” I whisper back, my lips inches from his.  
“Really?” He asks, his voice uncertain.  
“Yes, sweetest. Le no an-uir nîn?”  
“Ae anírach.”  
I lean down, and kiss Aragorn on the lips, a soft, sweet, and long kiss. Not rough, not desperate, but perfectly slow.  
“Tell me, Estel, do you have any interesting stories behind any of your scars?” I ask my lover.  
“I do, actually. I’ll tell you later tonight. When we’re in bed.”  
“Well then, let’s go, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ELFISH USED CAME FROM ARWEN-UNDOMIEL.COM  
> Suilaid : Greetings  
> Mae govannen : Well met  
> Iston le? : Do I know you?  
> Le no an-uir nîn? : Will you be mine forever?  
> Ae anírach : If you wish
> 
> Just an interesting note, ‘Rissien’ is the Elfish version of the name ‘Corey’, and ‘Maldor’ the Elfish of ‘Orlando’.   
> XOXO, Hearmliyneae


	3. A Tumble Down The Staircase

Twilight is setting in, and Minas Tirith is beginning to fall silent. Faramir works quietly in his study, preparing for the arrival of the guests for the reunion of the Fellowship. In the Royal Bedroom, the King and his Consort (or the Prince and his Consort) are getting ready for bed.  
“Come now, Aragorn. You are wasting time!” I whine.  
“I am doing no such thing, Legolas. You are merely too hasty.” The King replies, looking himself over in the mirror.   
His somewhat scraggly beard, his shoulder-length, dark brown, and curly hair, his grey eyes, his strong body; he is very content with what he sees. Then, Aragorn turns to look at me. I’m twiddling my thumbs while lying on the bed. My golden hair, elegantly braided. My piercing, cat-like, green eyes. My strong, yet lithe body. Aragorn grimaces. Of course he could never be as perfect as me. He strides over to the bed, and flops down, quite ungracefully.  
“Done admiring ourselves, are we?” I chuckle.  
Aragorn glares at me, and kisses me on the cheek. He rolls on top of me, and kisses me on the lips. I shove him aside, and nestle next to the Man, pulling the blankets over both of us.  
“You promised me, less than half an hour ago, that you would tell me about that scar...” I whisper into my friend’s ear, before nuzzling his neck.  
“Not yet, dearest. I first want to have some fun.” Aragorn replies, grabbing me around the waist and bringing our lips into full contact.  
I make as if to pull away again, but the Ranger does not let go. Rather, he deepens the kiss, prying my lips open with his tongue. The minute Aragorn’s tongue enters my mouth, I surrender. Aragorn is not one to give up in a fight. Or, rather, one of our “sessions”, as Faramir has come to call them. He is so very annoying, sometimes.  
I roll on top of my lover, running my hands all over his body, and tugging at his breeches. His hands run through my hair, and he groans slightly as I work at the cords of his constricting clothing. As soon as I have removed his breeches, I tug my own off, and I take Aragorn’s semi-hard member into my hand. He groans. As usual.  
“Could you try to be less noisy, darling?” I ask, grinning.  
“Deal with it.” He replies, pulling me back into another kiss.  
I begin to move my hand in a stroking motion, another moan escaping my lover’s lips. Blood pools in my groin, and my now erect length rubs against Aragorn’s thigh.  
“Please, Las.” He whispers, his eyes pleading with me.  
I position myself properly, and thrust into him. There is no need for preparation, if he is so impatient.  
Another moan, and I continue to stroke his length, while thrusting into him. With every thrust, I go harder and faster, shifting my angle a little every now and then. Aragorn, who has clearly been quite horny for some time now, comes quickly, and when he does, I pull him up, so that he is straddling me, sitting in my lap. I don’t miss a single thrust, and I manage to enter deeper than before. He screams in ecstasy, at the same moment that I release my seed deep inside of his body. We fall back down, and I grab a towel, which lies on the nightstand.  
After I clean ourselves up, I settle down again, Aragorn pushing himself against my side. He rests his head on my chest, and I run my fingers through his hair.  
“Now will you tell me?” I ask him.  
“Sure, Las. Which scar would you like to know about?” He responds, looking up at me, his hand making invisible circles on my stomach.  
“How about this one?” I ask, moving my hand to his hip, where a fine, thin line lies.  
It is barely noticeable, very clean, very neat, and very shallow. And yet, I find it intriguing. It is an odd place to have such a scar. I doubt it was caused by a weapon of any sort.  
“Oh, that one. It is nothing really. I merely fell down the stairs once.” My mate says, blushing slightly.  
“Tell me of your clumsiness, sweetheart. I’m curious.”  
“Well, it was really all Dan and Ro’s faults...”  
I chuckle, as he begins to tell his story.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
It was nearing Midsummer. It had been quite a warm spring, and the summer heat was now pounding down on the white roof of Imladris. Estel and Glorfindel were at the practice courts, sparring.  
“You have to move your feet, penneth!” The Elf said, dancing out of the way of the human’s sword.  
“Or perhaps you could stand still!” Estel replied through gritted teeth, blocking a blow from his teacher.  
Several Elves, including Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan, were watching the fight. Each was curious whether, now that he was sixteen, Elrond’s foster son could beat the Balrog slayer.

Bottom line: he couldn’t.

Within a few more moments, and after blocking a few more well-aimed blows, the Elf-Lord knocked Estel’s feet out from underneath him. The cool tip of an Elven blade pressed against his nose. The audience clapped wildly. It was always a pleasure to see Glorfindel fight.  
“Well, you’ve learned, Estel. But not enough. We’ll continue our sparring sessions for a couple more months, at least.” The smiling Elf said, when he helped his friend’s son to his feet.  
Elladan and Elrohir trotted over to their brother and friend.  
“Well, little brother...” Elladan started.  
“...You are clearly better at chores than at fighting.” Elrohir continued.  
This comment earned them an angry look from Estel, and a swat on the head each from their father, who had by now come to join them.  
“Behave yourself, you two.” Imladris’ Lord said sternly. “That was a crafty fight, Estel. You are certainly becoming a very able swordsman. Now, Glorfindel. I have quite a lot of work which I’d like to discuss with you. It’s concerning Celeborn’s idea of a new road between all three of the Elven realms.”  
“Of course, Elrond. Shall we go into the garden?”  
“That sounds wonderful. It is too hot to be inside right now.”  
The elder Elves walked away, leaving the children on the practice field.  
“Have fun with your ‘work’ Ada!” The twins called after Elrond, laughing.  
“You mustn’t tease them so much, guys.” Estel said, although he too was somewhat amused.  
“Come, Estel, Ro. Let us not worry about what they’re getting themselves into.” The elder twin said, smiling.

“You’ll never catch me, Estel!”  
“I might not, but Dan will!”  
“Just give it back, Ro!”  
“I’m sorry Dan, did I take your bishop?”  
“Yes, you did!”  
“We can’t play chess like this! The set’s incomplete!”  
Elladan and Estel were chasing their brother through the corridors of Rivendell. They had been playing a very intense game of chess, until Elrohir had decided to steal Elladan’s bishop. They had neared the grand staircase, near the main entrance, when Erestor slammed his door open, frustrated with all the noise.  
“Will the three of you please calm down? Or do I have to get your father involved?” The scholar shouted angrily.  
However, he had slammed the door at the exact moment Estel had passed it, knocking him over, and down the stairs. The twins had frozen in shock, seeing their foster brother tumble down the large staircase, and hit a potted plant at the bottom. Estel groaned in pain.  
Erestor, quickly recovering his composure, flew down the stairs, the Princes hot on his heels. The Elf-Lord carefully turned the Man over. Estel shrieked as the pain in his hip overtook him. Erestor looked at the wound hurriedly, it was bleeding and the bone was visible through the thin line of cut tissue.  
By now, more Elves had heard the commotion, and decided to see for themselves what was happening. Glorfindel and Elrond had hurried into the hall as well, worried of what may have happened.  
Upon seeing his foster son injured, and his advisor looking somewhat sheepish and guilty, the usually reserved Lord exploded with fury.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
I chuckle as I imagine Erestor looking sheepish, and Elrond exploding with fury. I look at my lover and say,  
“It wasn’t Dan and Ro’s fault, Aragorn. It was clearly Erestor’s.”  
“Yes, if you want to take it that literally. But if my brothers hadn’t always been messing around, I would not have fallen down the stairs.”  
“I suppose.”  
Aragorn pulls the blankets up around us, shielding us from the non-existent cold.  
“It is summer, Aragorn. There is no need to pull up the blankets so much.”  
“I prefer it.”  
I stroke the curly hair which is lying on my chest. Aragorn lifts his head slightly, and kisses me in the neck, before softly nibbling on my ear. My head shoots away, and before he knows it he is lying with his back pressed against my chest, my arms wrapped tightly around him. He smirks, before settling against me.  
“Garich i dhôl goll o Orch.” I whisper in his ear, before closing my eyes. There are busy days ahead of us. We must rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ada : Father  
> Garich i dhôl goll o Orch : You have the hollow head of an Orc


	4. The Morgul Blade's Bane

“Frodo, you haven’t said much yet.”  
“Hm? Oh, sorry Aragorn. It’s just...” The hobbit hesitates, looking around the King’s drawing room. The Fellowship has finally gathered again.  
“Just what, Frodo?” Gimli asks when Frodo makes no notion to continue.  
“Nothing, really. Just my scar.” Comes the reply. Frodo moves his hand to his shoulder, where the Morgul blade once penetrated his flesh.  
“It happens. Don’t worry about it, Frodo. The pain diminishes after a couple decades.” I said casually. My companions look at me, stunned.  
“Legolas, I don’t doubt your knowledge, but how would you know?” Pippin asks.  
“I got stabbed by a Morgul blade once, a couple hundred years back. Nasty affair.” I reply, taking a sip of my wine.  
“Really?” Aragorn, Frodo, Gandalf, and Eomer ask simultaneously.  
“Yes. Did I never tell you?”  
“Did you ever tell us anything about yourself?” Gimli murmurs. I shoot him an irritated look.  
“Well, what happened?” Sam asks.  
I start my story, settling down in my chair properly. “Like I said, it was a couple hundred years ago...”  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
I’d been on a hunt with three of my friends, Tegalad, Feredir, and Airion. Airion’s pretty important to this story, so you might want to remember him. It had been a sunny autumn day, and we’d shot several deer. We were just preparing to take them back to the palace, when we smelled some orcs, coming our way. Yes, Pip, we smelled them. They’re vile creatures, really.  
Anyways, we decided to hoist the deer up into one of the trees, and leave them there while we sought cover. We were quite tired, and not really in the mood for a fight.  
However, as the orcs started catching up with us, we realized it was pretty useless, trying to run. Somehow, the orcs were travelling with immense speed. My friends and I were determined not to give up, though, and we sped up our pace. We were nearing the edge of the forest, and were almost in sight of the first outpost, when Airion tripped, and shattered his collarbone.  
I told Tegalad and Feredir to continue, and alert the guards in the outpost. I turned back, and helped Airion up. However, as I did, I noticed a strange look in his eyes. He looked almost evil.  
“Thanks, Prince.” He said. He always addressed me by my first name, so I wondered about this odd title.  
“No problem, Airion. Come, we must hurry. You can run, can you?” I asked, trying to ignore the predatory gleam in his hazel eyes.  
“I could run, Thranduilion, if I wanted to. But my master wouldn’t be too pleased.” He lisped.  
Before I could ask him who this master was, the answer walked onto the road.  
Airion had been a spy for Mordor, a Dark Elf. His master, a Nazgul, stood facing me.  
“Ceno!” Airion cried. The gleam in his eyes was now filled with awe and humility. He looked at the ring ghost, and said something in the Dark Speech, something that sounded like “Have I done well, my Lord?”  
The Nazgul took one look at him, and then the orcs stormed onto the road, and surrounded the poor Elf. His cries were cut short quickly, and when the orcs moved back, laughing, his horribly mutilated body lay among the leaves, blood seeping from his wounds.  
The Nazgul now turned to me. I’d gotten up, and fitted an arrow to my bow, but I could not move. I tried to will my legs to do something, anything, but they did not obey me. The Dark Being came closer to me, unsheathing its sword. I gasped, and, before my brain even registered it, my bow and arrow clattered onto the forest floor, and I felt a sharp, immense pain in my chest. That’s the last thing I remember.

When I woke up, I was lying in my bed, with my father looking over me, his brows knitted, and my chest heavily bandaged.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
“Wow.”  
“You can say that again.”  
“How come you always seem to run into Dark Elves, Legolas?” Glorfindel asked me, cocking his head to the side slightly.  
“They like him.” Elrohir replied.  
“He is very attractive.” Aragorn says, as he sits down next to me. He places one hand on my thigh, and gives me a worried look. Everyone else rolls their eyes.  
“So your scar doesn’t hurt anymore?” Frodo asks, slightly puzzled.  
“Not one bit. It took maybe 60, 70 years, but...” My voice trails off.  
“If only we had that much time!” Eomer scoffs.  
“Oh, but you will.” Celeborn says, casting a look at Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, and my father. “I’m surprised you don’t know yet.”  
“Know what?” Eomer asks, confused. Everyone is staring at Celeborn. Except for Aragorn, who has rested his head in the crook of my neck, and is sleeping soundlessly.  
“Wake Aragorn, Legolas. That’s no proper behavior for a King.” The Lord of Lothlorien says. “Now, have any of you ever heard of the Fountain of Youth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceno! : See!


	5. Aragorns Have Commitment Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter, which is written as ten mini songfics. 
> 
> Aragorn is being Aragorn, and having commitment issues (because that’s just what Aragorns do). 
> 
> Legolas is loving, but doesn’t really understand Aragorn’s feelings... 
> 
> And there’s some sex and Fountains of Youth.
> 
>  
> 
> I have really crappy music...

LOVEGAME - LADY GAGA  
“Legolas!” My lover cries as he came, hard, hot, and heavy. He collapses on top of me, and I sigh, content with just laying there. His hair smells like sweat, cranberries, and, for some reason, mud. There hasn’t been any rain in Gondor since Spring passed into Summer.  
“Enjoying yourself, melleth?” I chuckle as I stroke his back.  
“When I’m with you, always.” Aragorn smiles back at me. Then, briefly, I see fear pass through his eyes, and he tenses for a fleeting moment. It’s happened more and more often, this strange fear, since Celeborn explained that the Fellowship (and Eomer, Faramir, Eowyn, and Bilbo) would each be granted immortality if they wished to take the offer.  
Why is Aragorn scared?  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
LEAVE IT ALL TO ME - MIRANDA COSGROVE  
“I can handle it, Faramir!” The King shouts at his Councilor.  
“Sir, you haven’t taken a break in four days! You need to sleep and eat!” The Councilor yells back, shooting me a look, asking for help silently.  
“You can leave the work to me, if you do not trust Faramir to do it...” I suggest coolly, giving said Man an understanding glance.  
“Don’t. Touch. My. Work.” Aragorn hisses, before storming back into his office and locking the door.  
“Um. Did you guys fight or something?” Faramir asks, confused.  
“I have no idea what’s up with him. He’s been like this since Celeborn made the Fountain of Youth announcement.” I reply, just as confused as my friend.  
“Don’t worry too much. They’re just his commitment issues acting up...” Lord Elrond says as he rounds the corner. Commitment issues. Great. I thought those left when Arwen did...  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU - KELLY CLARKSON  
“Aragorn. We need to talk.” I say. Manwe, does he look a mess. His hair is unbrushed and unwashed. His tunic is dirty, and his eyes are bleary and puffy from lack of sleep. His cheeks and lips have lost their color, and his mouth is set in a grim line. He needs to eat.  
“Go away!” He says, turning his head into the pillows of the couch.  
“No. We’re going to talk, whether you like it or not. Then, you’re going to eat, bathe, and sleep.” I respond, sitting down next to him. “Dearest, why do you fear immortality?”  
“I’ve lived with immortal beings for so long, and I have seen too many of them grow tired of their partners. My foster father first of all.” He grumbles, digging deeper into the pillows.  
“Accepting the gift of immortality does not mean binding yourself to me, Aragorn.” I sigh, not really understanding him. “What doesn’t kill you...” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I know, I know. Fine. I’ll do what you said.” He slides of the couch, nearly collapsing to the floor with malnourishment and exhaustion.  
I catch him and help him to the table, where I placed some food. “Come, I’ll help you.”  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
CHEMICALS REACT - ALY & AJ  
“Has Aragorn decided yet?” Eomer asks me as I walk into the dining hall.  
I wish I could say yes, but I must answer the King of Rohan in the negative.  
“Well, he certainly is taking his time. I’d expected him to say ‘yes’ before any of us. Considering the whole, you know, situation...” Pippin says.  
I snort, quite un-royally. “Situation? Is that what everyone calls it?”  
“Nah, just me. But seriously, Gandalf said the first time you guys met was like a bunch of chemicals reacting. Sparks flew, and stuff. Is that actually possible, flying sparks because people fall in love?” The little Hobbit asks me, before putting another piece of meat in his mouth. I chuckle, before pouring myself some wine and explaining the point of figurative language to the innocent youngster.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
ME, YOU, AND MY MEDICATION - BOYS LIKE GIRLS  
“Legolas?” A tentative knock on my study door, before it opens and Aragorn shuffles into the room.  
“Yes, Aragorn?” I respond, not looking up from the documents I’m working on.  
Aragorn stands awkwardly near the door, unable to keep his hands still. ‘Do you remember what you told me, last week? When I wasn’t eating and sleeping?”  
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I say, still not averting my gaze.  
“Well, what I was trying to say then... I’m not afraid I’ll grow tired of you. I’m afraid you’ll grow tired of me... And I can’t live without you. You’re like my drug... My everything...” My lover whispers.  
Within a second I’m up and have pinned him against the door, my lips crushed to his. “Never, in a million years, would I grow tired of you, Aragorn. Never, ever, think that. I have loved you since I knew you as Estel, then as Aragorn, and now as Elessar I love you even more than before. Whatever, in Elbereth’s name, you are called next, I will love you still.” I press my lips against his again, trying to kiss away all his uncertainty. Who does he think I am? Arwen?  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
THE BALLAD OF MONA LISA - PANIC! AT THE DISCO  
Another stroke of my quill and I finish my drawing. Aragorn still sits, unaware, on the balcony. His hair contrasts beautifully with his face, the sharp jaw softened by the soft curls. It’s the day before our journey to the Fountain of Youth, and there is no need for words between us. All the uncertainty and, to use Lord Elrond’s words, commitment issues are gone, and tomorrow Aragorn will join me in eternal immortality.  
I sit down beside him, and show him the drawing. He smiles, that special smile he only does for me. He pulls me straight into his lap, and nuzzles my neck. Placing soft kisses along my jaw while his fingers tug at my tunic. Tonight should be an interesting night indeed...  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
KISS ME - AVRIL LAVIGNE  
Several more minutes. The time is ticking away painstakingly slowly. Bilbo, the second last to drink from the Fountain, is in the clearing, bushes obscuring our view of the Fountain. Aragorn paces up and down the path, awaiting his turn. The others have gone a bit further down the road, allowing us some space.  
Minutes pass in silence, neither of us talking. Bilbo walks out of the clearing, looking young again, like he did when I first met him at the Battle of the Five Armies, and gives Aragorn a wink before heading towards the others. Aragorn looks at me, and I nod towards the clearing.  
“One last time, Legolas.” He says. “Kiss me, before I join you forever.”  
I try not to chuckle at his desperate words as I pull him against my chest, my lips brushing over his. It is time.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
TONIGHT - JONAS BROTHERS  
Aragorn looks again as he did during the Council of Elrond. No, that is not true. He looks again like he did in Lothlorien, except less sad. His eyes are filled with sparkling mirth and young happiness. The wrinkles on his skin are gone, his hair less grey and dull. And as he rides through the gates of Minas Tirith, he looks at me in a way that can only mean one thing: tonight will be a very eventful night.  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
SOS - RIHANNA  
An elbow nudges me out of my sleep. Well, nap, really. I groan, as I see Aragorn looking at me with lust-filled eyes.  
“Ara, I love you and all, and it’s great that you’ve gained immortality, but I’m actually exhausted. I haven’t slept well since you started having your commitment issues. We can have more sex tomorrow.” I roll onto my side, away from him, and close my eyes again, knowing that it will be useless.  
The King’s arms slip around my waist, and he says, “If I were to take you right now, what would you do?”  
“I’d send Faramir an SOS.” I reply.  
Aragorn laughs at this, before saying, “You know what, first I’ll blow you, and then we’ll see if you still want to sleep.”  
Oh boy...  
\-------------------------------------------o(O)o----------------o(O)o-------------------------------------------  
WOULDN’T CHANGE A THING - CAMP ROCK  
He’s frustrating. He’s stubborn. He used to have those commitment issues. He’s too handsome for his own good. He’s a King. He’s a Ranger. He’s immortal. He’s holding our first adopted child, a son we named Erestor, after the Lord who suggested the use of the Fountain of Youth to the other Elfish Lords. And if I could, I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.  
I love him, more than anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, everyone! I hope you’re not too disappointed... I can add more scar stories, if anyone has any prompts or suggestions. Please feel free to send them on here, or on my Tumblr, hobbitswithplatypusswag.  
> I’ll be writing more stuff with LOTR, but my new obsession is the Avengers. I swear, there is NO ONE that you cannot ship Clint with. Honestly.
> 
> And yeah, Erestor suggested that. Me likey Erestor. Especially in a relationship with Celeborn or something... OOH! IDEAS!!!!


	6. What Are Friends For?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or "The one where Aragorn doesn't want to go to sleep, but is actually really tired, and Legolas goes off on a couple tangents."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt by fortheloveofhulk on Tumblr. Prompt said: "Either Aragorn or Legolas has a scar from an encounter with a Woman Scorned."  
> Thank you for the prompt!

A wail breaks the deathly silence of the night and rouses me from my slumber. The two of us, tangled up underneath the blankets ,  groaned, hoping that, perhaps, it was just a dream. But more wails soon follow, and I roll out of bed and onto lithe and nimble feet. I walk over to the cot in the corner of the room, and lift the small bundle into his arms.

            “Shhhh, Erestor-nin. Shhhh.” I whisper to my son. My partner has, in the meantime, rolled over again and is almost asleep. “Aragorn. Wake up.”

            A response is grumbled into the pillows, but it is not at all comprehensible.

            “Fine then. I’ll just raise _our_ son on my own, then!” I huff, undignified, as I walk back to the bed with the still crying baby in my arms. “Shhhh penneth. Go back to sleep. Everything’s alright.” I continue to whisper in Elfish to the tiny human being. The blue eyes are scrunched up tightly, even as the cries cease.

            “Alright. I’m awake. Need me to do anything?” Aragorn asked me as he sits up and rubbs the sleep from his eyes.

            “Hm. It’s alright, he’s asleep again...” I study my son’s features carefully. Perhaps he had no genes of either of his parents, but he’s still our son.

            “Seriously, Legolas? Seriously? Now I’m awake. I’m not going back to sleep, alright?”

            “Aragorn...” I sigh, as I lie down next to my husband once again. I place Erestor between us  on the pillows and grab my other half around the waist. Pulling him closer so that we are touching from the waist down, I slide my other arm underneath him and start to stroke his back. He needs to sleep. There’s too much going on presently, and he needs all the rest he can get.

            “No. Forget it. I’m up and wired, now.”

            “Oh Manwe... Fine. What if we continue where we left off?”

            “Legolas, we are not having sex with our infant son in the room! What in the name of the Valar are you thinking!” Sweet Elbereth how did I end up married to such a moron?

            “Estel. I meant with the stories. About our scars...”

            “Oh.” I imagine him blushing, although he rarely does. “Sounds good. Where did you get that burn mark on your shoulder?”

            “Hey. It was my turn to ask!”

            “Hm... Deal with it...” Aragorn pulls himself closer to me, moving his head onto my chest, beneath Erestor.

            “Alright, then...”

* * *

            I had been travelling with my friend, Feredir, and we were in a town of men, at the borders of Mirkwood. In Dale, actually. It was before the Fall of Erebor. I should mention, Feredir liked to flirt with everything that wore a skirt. Except for that time Tegalad cross dressed... Never mind, I’m going off track.

            We were sitting in a tavern, and Feredir was, as usual, enjoying a maiden’s company. However, we’d passed through this town before, and he had been with a different lady then. We doubted we’d run into this other woman, though, and even if we did we did not think she’d cause any trouble. _Valar_ we were wrong!

             It was dark outside, and Feredir had had quite a lot to drink. He had never been very good at holding his liquor. Anyways, he was extremely drunk and had this barmaid on his lap. I was trying to look for a way to get him to shut up, leave her, and go to bed, because I did not want to leave him alone downstairs in such a terrible state.

 

            Of course, that was the moment the _other_ woman decided to walk in. With her older brothers. Who were alchemists. And had acids with them. She started yelling her head off at Feredir, who did not even recognize her, while I was trying to calm her down and explain the somewhat promiscuous nature of my friend. Her brothers were just standing there, trying to look intimidating. I’m fairly certain, though, that they were scared to death of us.

            Then, the woman went absolutely crazy and grabbed a bottle of acid one of her brothers was carrying. She hurled it at Feredir, but I pushed him out of the way and got hit with it instead. Burned a hole in my tunic, it did. Leather, mind you! And then, of course, the corrosive stuff got onto my skin, and that’s how I got the burn.

            After she threw the acid, the other patrons realized this was going wrong, and restrained her. Spent the night locked up, I believe. But Feredir was exhausted and wasted, and I was burnt. Her brothers tried to apologize, but I told them it was alright. I did not want them to feel guilty over something their sister had caused.

* * *

“Estel?” I whisper after finishing my story.

“’M awake... sorta...” Comes the mumbled reply. He’s nestled even further into my chest (if that was even possible).

“It’s alright. Go to sleep, darling.”

“Thanks for telling me. Feisty maidens, Dale’s got...” The King mumbles as he falls asleep again. His arm pulls around my waist and his head shifts a bit, but then he’s still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

            I bring our child closer to my head, and then move my arm around the two most important people in my life. If only I could stay in this moment forever.


	7. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn is a moron (again) and it turns out he has really bad vertigo sometimes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt by: fortheloveofhulk (on Tumblr) or Nellethiel (on here)
> 
>  
> 
> "Aragorn has a scar from doing something incredibly reckless/stupid as a teenager."
> 
>  
> 
> He gets sick in this one. He's a complete moron.
> 
> As always.

“Estel?” No response. He’s probably fallen asleep again. I knock again, harder this time.

            “Come in!” Comes a slightly muffled reply. As I open the door, an intense heat comes over me. It is absolutely suffocating in my husband’s office!

            “Hello, Legolas. We’re almost done with these taxes.” Faramir says quite morosely as he waves in greeting. Aragorn is bent over a pile of papers on his desk, quill between his teeth. He looks like he wants to stab something.

            “It is boiling in here! Are you both mad? You’ll get heatstroke if you don’t open a window!” The fireplace is roaring like a Mûmakil.

            “I think you’re the mad one, it’s absolutely freezing!” Aragorn says around the quill. His face is horribly flushed, and there’s sweat dripping down his neck. Faramir shoots a me a worried look.

            “Someone remind me why I married such a bloody moron...” I mutter under my breath. “Estel. Bed. Now. You’re clearly sick.”

            “Thank you...” Faramir sighs. “I’ll finish this, go.”

            “No, don’t be crazy! I’m fine!” Aragorn says as he puts the quill down and tries to straighten himself. Instead, he collapses to one side. “Oh Valar....”

            “Faramir, give me a hand, would you? Is everything spinning, dearest?” I ask as I move over to that idiot.

            Faramir moves to the other side, and together we hoist Aragorn to his feet. He collapses into my arms. “A bit.... Make it stop....” He mumbles, trying to stand up properly.

            “Come on then, to bed. Thank you, Faramir. I think I’ll be able to get him across the hall.”

* * *

“So....”

            “Alright, you have questions. Ask. Punish me.”

            “I’m not going to punish you, I’m just worried! You never told me you had abrupt vertigo when you got sick!”  
            “I didn’t mean to worry you! You’ve been doing so much, with all the trouble in Mirkwood and Erestor, and, and.... I just....”

            I sigh, rocking our son slowly in my arms. Aragorn’s been sick these past three days. He could barely sit up without feeling incredibly unbalanced, he could barely keep anything down, and he kept shivering. I actually thought I might lose him, if it wasn’t for the Fountain. “It’ alright. But it has happened before?”

            “Yes. Once, when I was fifteen. Come here.” Aragorn pats the bed next to him. I move over and sit down with Erestor in my arms. Estel pulls me closer to him, and places his arms around me. I let my head rest on his shoulder. His temperature’s gone down, and he managed to eat something this morning. He’ll be alright. Of course he will be.  “It’s actually how I got this scar on my arm...”

            “Tell me about it.”

* * *

            It was long time ago, now that I think about it. I’d gotten sick, like now, and Ada had insisted that I stay in bed. However, a day after I’d gotten sick, the first snows of winter came. I really wanted to go outside; I didn’t feel anything for staying in bed.

            It just so happened, that Ada and Glorfindel had to go to the Grey Havens. Erestor was in Lothlorien, so Lindir was in charge. You can imagine how that went. He’s a great musician, but he’s not that good of  a head of household. And possibly in love with my father.

            However, that is not important. Elladan and Elrohir went down to the river, and Arwen was in her room. She didn’t like the cold much. So, Lindir was doing I-don’t-know-what, but he certainly wasn’t paying me any attention. So I decided to go outside.

            I somehow managed to get dressed, and out into the gardens. That’s where it went wrong. Everything was spinning around me, but I thought it was just the cold, so I kept going. As I got to the steps that led to the river, I could see my brothers. However, when I tried to go _down_ the steps, I fell sideways onto the railing. I tried to grab a hold of it, but it was too slippery, and I hit the stairs, which I then continued to tumble down. I remember, faintly, hearing a very loud crunch, and a lot of blood spilling down my arm. Dan and Roh realized I’d fallen, of course, and they brought me back to the house and the healing wing. I’d broken my arm, and the bone had punctured my skin. That’s how my stupidity led to another scar...

* * *

“You seem to have a lot of accidents with stairs, darling.” I smile.

            “They’re my sworn enemy. You remember in Moria? That the stairs just sort of collapsed? That wasn’t nice either.”

            “Right. Because stairs are sentient beings. Look, you go get some more sleep. I’m sure you’ll be better tomorrow.”

            “Alright, babe. Thanks for everything. And I’m sorry...” Aragorn lies back against the pillows.

            “There’s nothing to be sorry for, dearest. I’ll be in the sitting room if you need me.” I give him a kiss on his forehead as he closes his eyes. A moron, maybe, but _my_ moron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt are always welcome on my Tumblr! hobbitparty.tumblr.com


End file.
